


Sociological Initiation Rites; or Erik's First Book of Firsts

by baehj2915



Series: Barbaric Erik [5]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Blow Jobs, Erik Being Cocky, M/M, Sexual Humour
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-16
Updated: 2012-02-22
Packaged: 2017-10-31 06:40:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/341079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baehj2915/pseuds/baehj2915
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of things from multiple perspectives that our dear cave!Erik has never experienced before. Like guacamole, blowjobs, capitalism, television, carbonation, chocolate, and, well, just about everything. He's a caveman. Such hijinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blowie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things: 
> 
> 1) This is set in the first two weeks of Erik's arrival to now-land. 
> 
> 2) Just to make it explicit, the smelly room full of tiny hides is the library and those are books. 
> 
> 3) In case you missed it, this one NC17 for penises. 
> 
> ~

_Erik’s POV_

 

My mission to make Charrulls mine was successful. I wooed him with vigor, donating my kill to him and being sweet to him. He became pliant to my desires. We shared a large pleasure compartment together, wherein we locked our bodies in sexual congress. I had been with Charrulls for twelve sunsets and in that time we knew each other carnally more often than my parents ever had in twelve sunsets when I was a child. It was a pattern of every other night, either by hand or mounted. In addition, Charrulls continued to groom me and fawn over me and give me his words and possessions. 

I was beginning to think I had been a little too successful in wooing him. 

Charrulls was filled with lust for me. 

Whenever I set out to do anything, hunt for food or investigate the woods or make a fire for chores, Charrulls detained me. Not everything led to him petting me and taking me to our pleasure compartment, but it many times did. 

With all this in the background of the thoughts about my new life, I set out one day to teach the others how to make proper clothes. 

The weather had been warm and moderate thus far both inside and outside the house, but I knew that would change eventually. It was my responsibility to get my new clan prepared for the shift, whenever it might come. In my observations I had noticed that Charrulls, Ray-van, and Hayn-ka were quite lazy and woefully unprepared for the cold season, as well as raiders and animal attacks. They were arrogant in their magic. Charrulls and I had the bearskin for our bed, but I had inspected Ray-van’s room and found nothing like that there. 

Their lack of preparedness and supplies was undoubtedly why they had given me Charrulls. And it was obvious now, since the wooing and following sunsets, Charrulls wasn’t simply a concubine. He was a companion. He was essentially my wife. And they had clearly given him to me, as well as their rich possessions, to provide for them for the coming cold season so they didn’t all freeze and starve to death. 

So I went into the room with all the tiny, rough hides to collect them for bedding. 

Despite the initial find of the bear, the woods contained little more than hare and squirrels. Mostly squirrels. There was no suitable hunting that would provide food or hides. Taking an idea off of their wraps, I decided to conjure something else. 

In the first days of my arrival, I had discovered the tiny hides contained little, thin sheets of finely woven fabric in them. I surmised that at decent enough quantity those tiny cloths could be collected and stuffed into other wraps, like the ones they kept over the windows, to keep a body warm. However not long after I started gathering the cloths from their hides, Charles came in and interrupted me. 

“Nononononono,” he said. 

I knew what that meant. It meant wrong or stop. The more “no” sounds there were, the more it meant I should stop. Charles grabbed the hide from my hands and clutched it to his chest. 

“Wut ahh ewyu du nnnn?” 

I knew what “ewyu” meant as well. Ewyu was a general term for whoever might be speaking with. But I couldn’t yet hear all the words they spoke in clusters. 

“I am going to make blankets and wraps for the coming cold,” I said. Charrulls and I both spoke at length to one another, despite the fact we couldn’t understand almost all of the words. But it was comforting to hear. Besides, he would never learn the words if I never said them. 

I motioned to the very modest pile of cloths and pretended I was cold, holding my arms tight over my chest and shaking. It was a pretending motion he did many times, but looked stupid and baffled by my pretending. He brought his shoulders up in a gesture I understood as meaning he did not know. I pulled at the wraps they made me wear and picked up some of the cloths from the ground, layering them across my chest to show what I meant. 

“Do you see?” I said. “Wraps. We can make wraps.” 

Charrulls looked at me like there was nothing more difficult in the world. 

“No no no,” he said. He took some of the cloths from me and shook them, saying, “Pay pahhr!” 

It was easy to get angry when it was so difficult to make myself understood, so I couldn’t stop an angry yell from escaping my lips. I grabbed the cloths from him, ripping them in the process. I was suddenly very angry. I knew the tiny cloths were thin and easy to tear and not good for blankets, but I was trying to make do with what was available. The burden of our different tongues was still such a furrow to work. It was very frustrating.

“You people are so stupid! I am trying to save you from your deaths and all you do is fight with me! I will let you freeze and the wolves will eat your bones! Will that make you happy?” 

For a moment I thought Charrulls could understand my words. Because he looked just as angry and hurt as he would if he knew what I’d said. He threw his hide to the ground dismissively, sighed, and pulled his hands through his hair. I felt bad for yelling. He was just as confused as I was. 

I dropped the cloths down and said in his tongue, “No Charrulls no bad. Bad Ariik.” 

I knew by then that they all called me Ariik as a name. It had been a misunderstanding, but one I was willing to let pass if it meant Charrulls would call me his forever. And I hoped he understood I was trying to apologize in his words, but there was such a severe lack of them I did only what worked up until then. I gathered him and started petting his hair. Touching him was the best way to say anything. It usually worked well. 

Charrulls quickly began to relax in my arms. He laughed and embraced me back, letting his head rest on my shoulder, for that was where he was heighted next to me. The easiest way for me to hold against him in turn was to rest my cheek on top of his head. It was a very nice feeling, to have so much wealth that I had time to spare to hold my wife like so and do nothing. I thought if I could only ever feel Charrulls against me, it would be a very good way to live. 

And Charrulls must have thought the same way. After only a little while of touching and squeezing him close, he began kissing my neck and under my jaw. His hands slid up my belly, under the chest-wrap he made me wear. He had such soft, nice hands I couldn’t help but kiss him in approval. 

In a short amount of time we were on one of the sitting platform places. They were too soft and sometimes difficult to get out of, but sometimes when I sat in them Charles would get into my lap. But this time he was barely on my lap before he slid off to his knees on the floor. 

I was a little confused. He normally got on his knees so I could mount him, but he was fully clothed and facing me. When I moved to stand, he pushed me back, smiling. He pulled the retractable waist of my leg-wrap, pulling it down to my knees. He took hold of my spear, working it harder, still confused. He knew how it worked. If he kept doing that from his position I was going to expel on his face. He tucked himself closer between my knees, holding my shaft with one hand, and to my complete horror leaned in with a wide-open mouth to take a bite. 

I grabbed both sides of his face to stop him. 

“What are you doing?! Why would you do that?!” 

He smoothed his hands over mine and shushed me. I relaxed slightly. Of course Charrulls wouldn’t bite my cock. Of course. He may have bit me other places, but only to be playful after I had bitten him, marking each other. Surely he knew he couldn’t bite my cock. Slowly he eased my hands off his face and wrapped his hand around my shaft. Again he lowered his mouth near the tip, but slowly and closed-lipped. Then he kissed it. 

I sighed in relief. 

It was strange, but much better than the alternative. 

He opened his mouth again, but before I could even breathe his tongue darted out licked the top of my cock. Then again, his fingers pushing down, until his lips hovered around it and closed around me. 

I was still a little terrified. It was the strangest thing that had ever happened to me. I couldn’t fathom why he was mouthing around my cock, pretending to eat it, but not really. The strange thing was as he renewed and renewed his lips over it and pushed his tongue along the underside, it felt good. 

It felt very good. 

He pushed me inside him further, so I could feel the tip of my cock touching the roof of his mouth, a little graze of his teeth, the roll of his tongue. It looked pretty, his red, beautiful lips stretched around me, while I could still see his eyes. I was beginning to see the merit to this strange trick of his. And then he, very gently, very slightly, sucked on me. 

Everything was white. It felt like my eyes had been trapped on the sun. I was struck stiff through my whole body. It had to be some kind of magic. 

He was pulling my rise out of me through his mouth. 

I wanted to stop him, but my body was tight. Passion was rushing to my loins. Every carnal embrace with Charles was heated and remarkable. He turned my body to desire. I knew nothing better than to be inside him. The way he could make me rise was shocking. It made me want to lay down my life to him. But this was sucking was new and powerful. I was going to spill between his lips, which felt wrong.

And it felt like it was going to happen immediately. 

“My rise is in my stomach,” I said, with hands awkwardly pushing at his shoulders, but not really wanting to push him away. 

Instead of stopping, he took me deeper in his mouth, going back and forth, sucking with more strength. He didn’t stop going back and forth with his red, red lips, wet with spit, pulling the pulse of my cock forward with each laving stroke. 

“You are going to suck the heart out of me!” I warned, knowing it was futile.

My whole body quivered with each fake swallow. Then he moaned. The breath came through his nose and his tongue surged and whole being vibrated into the vein of my cock, forcing my spill from me in a hot, sudden flood. He swallowed and swallowed around me, milking my rise so long out of me it was more like a valley. I shuddered, my belly and back so tense I couldn’t stop it. 

I had never caught my rise so suddenly or so thoroughly before. 

Charrulls rose from my wilting spear brazenly, smiling, with spill on his fatter lower lip. He wiped it off with his thumb and licked it. Clearly an act for my benefit because his coy, mischievous lake-water eyes never left mine. His fingers traced comforting circles in the hairs on my thighs, like what he’d done wasn’t mind-shattering. 

I couldn’t move or think. 

“You are insane,” I said. 

Whatever he thought I said made him laugh. 

If I had had any doubts before, they were dispelled then. I had obviously and completely wooed Charles to me. But if he was going to start pulling my rise from me like that all the time, leaving me half-dumb and half-paralyzed from pleasure, nothing would ever be prepared and come the cold season we were all going to freeze to death. 

I could think of worse ways to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D 
> 
> If you have any firsts for Erik's First of Firsts Book with Firsts or whatever the title of this is, please drop a line in the comments and I will happily steal it from you. I've already stolen blowjob and supermarket from you fine, fine, _fine_ folks. 
> 
> Again, thank you for reading and suffusing my life with the golden glow of love. More to come soon!


	2. Spanking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles is kind. Charles is patient. Charles believes in the respect of property and it never being too late to learn a lesson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for all you folks who were just outraged about Erik's book-destroying rampage. I honestly didn't think much of it, considering the last time Erik was feeling motivated he killed him a bear. But some of you were hilariously vexed by that. This drabble's for you. 
> 
> ~

_Erik's POV_

_Five Years Later_

 

 

“Erik, my darling, my buttercup, my turtledove, my sugary bowl of honey toasted cereal.” 

I paused from attempts at learning letter-words, immediately suspicious. Charles was leaning in the doorway with his eyes and his lips in a way I’d recently learned to describe as come-hither. Hank said it meant “attractive,” but it seemed a rather blunt way of describing someone as attractive. That they literally made someone come when they arrived. But it was apt given Charles’ mischievous look. 

“Yes, my own.” 

He walked into the room casually, with his hands tucked behind his back. 

“I was just in the library, looking for this big, old textbook of one of my former professors. I couldn’t for the life of me find it.”

“That is misfortunate, my love.”

“Unfortunate,” he corrected. “And it is, my sweet.” 

In his walk from the front of the room, he’d come around the side and was now behind me, between my chair and the window. I did not turn around to see him. There was something a little foreboding in the tone of his voice. 

We termed each other endearments, possessive nicknames to make name of our desire for each other. Charles said it was a tradition in English that most lovers did not use anymore. Amongst my people, formal recognition of a love relationship was polite and expected between two people who lived together such as Charles and I did. But he tended to use it too much when he was making humor or contrary with me. 

“Can I help you find it?”

He came behind my chair, running a few fingers through my hair briefly. 

“No, because I remember what happened.”

“Did you misplace it?”

“Can you recall, my angel, the very first days you arrived here? And how one day you decided to go in the east library and rip the stuffing out of some books for whatever reason?” 

It took me a minute, but I did. I nodded. 

“Yes. I was going to make preparations for winter. I didn’t know how we were going to survive the cold.” 

“Ah, I see.” Charles sank closer around me, resting his chin on my shoulder and sliding an arm tight over my chest. “But you know, I never punished you for that. Of course it wouldn’t have been fair. You couldn’t speak your case. We were both trying to communicate, but it wasn’t coming through. You certainly didn’t know what books even were, let alone an alphabet, so you couldn’t guess their purpose.” 

I shook my head. “No.” 

“But now you do.”

“Yes.”

“So you agree.” He brought his other arm around from behind me and set a thick, wooden paddle on the desk. “Now you can be punished.”

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is also another arena to update you all on the ridiculously awesome fanarts that keep getting thrown at My Barbaric Darling. The proclivity of this fandom to create for one another is both inspiring and appreciated. I just became aware of [this awesome multi-panel scene by Brilcrist](http://brilcrist.tumblr.com/post/17737404485/pardon-for-the-messy-inking-coz-i-just-need-some) this evening. <3 And lest I forget, here's [one from palalife](http://palalife.tumblr.com/post/16911868886/my-barbaric-darling-by-baehj2915-erik-being-the) and [one from paperflower86](http://paperflower86.tumblr.com/post/17516781373/early-valentines-day-fanart-inspired-by). <3 <3 <3
> 
> You guise! 
> 
> More soon. :D


	3. Ice Cream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things: 
> 
> 1) Another short one by way of saying I think there are gonna be a lot of short ones. A lot about food probably. 
> 
> 2) Set about two months or so after Erik's arrival. 
> 
> ~

_Charles’ POV_

 

I dropped the small containers on the countertop, a little more excited for this experiment than most. 

We’d been treating Erik to thoroughly modern foods recently. Things he wouldn’t have any equivalent for, to record his reactions, but mostly to introduce him to a more modern diet. We’d gone through a lot of rice dishes, slightly more exotic fruits and veg, and dairy products. Erik apparently had a rather exciting palate and had become quite enamored with a lot of acidic, intense foods, like kiwis, oranges, curries, and sharp cheeses. He’d had a full week with long hours of language lessons and I thought a little introduction to ice cream would be a good reward. 

“Was all this entirely necessary?” Raven said.

She normally didn’t complain about an abundance of ice cream, but she was still a little disapproving about everything that pertained to Erik. 

Hank looked a little hurt, clutching his spoon defensively. I think Hank’s biggest vice was ice cream. Which is not exactly saying much.

“I thought a few different flavors would go appreciated.” 

That was true. Hank and Raven were eagerly awaiting the ice cream like vultures, despite what Raven said. She had her eye on the Cherry Garcia the way a hawk watched a rabbit. Additionally I’d gotten Chocolate Fudge Brownie, Vanilla, Americone Dream, and Strawberry Cheesecake in the single serving sizes. 

Erik picked up one of the tiny Ben & Jerry’s containers and immediately dropped, looking outraged. He touched it again tentatively. 

“Code!” 

“Colllld,” I corrected. 

“Cowulllld,” he said. 

I looked at him suspiciously, but he returned a guileless, toothy grin. I was beginning to think that sometimes he was just mocking my accent when he repeated my words. 

I picked up the Vanilla, but Hank blurted, “Do Americone Dream first.” 

“I suppose we have our favorites,” I muttered, switching to Americone Dream and digging out a spoonful for Erik.

“It’s not my favorite.” He gestured to his notebook. “I just have them written down alphabetically.”

“What is your favorite?” Raven asked. Which was fair. It’s a fairly irresistible question when it comes to ice cream. 

Hank blushed slightly. “Chubby Hubby,” he said quietly. 

Raven snorted. “That’s goddamn adorable. Mine’s Jamaican Me Crazy, but I think that’s mostly because of the pun. And if my memory serves, Charles still goes on a yearly rant because they discontinued God Save the Cream or whatever that was.”

“Cool Britannia,” I said wistfully. “I still miss it.” 

I gave the spoon to Erik but he looked unsure. He sniffed it, but that only increased the doubt on his face. I took the spoon from him and licked it off, to show him what it was like. He grinned soppily and murmured, “leps.” The next spoonful he then promptly put in his mouth and promptly spat it out. He grabbed his tongue like it burned. 

He looked at me, bewildered. 

Clearly he thought it tasted good, because despite the odd sensory experience, he grabbed the cup and tried gnawing on it, awkwardly trying to take a bite out of the top. He dropped the cup back on the tabletop, grunted in disgust, and said, “Cowuld!” He went into a string of other words, but I only knew three or four of his and so didn’t catch any. He reached for a different container, but seemed surprised that one was cold as well. 

“Chars,” he said with a bit of a whine to his voice. “What, Chars?” 

As I understood, Chars was a bit of a nickname for me. Sometimes in bed he would play around with the sounds of my name, like he simply enjoyed rolling them over his tongue. It was, frankly, distractingly adorable. And “what” was the only question word he really used. What could mean anything from “what is that?” to “what do you want?” to “what are you doing to me, Chars?” 

“It’s supposed to be cold.” I added, “Cold is good.” 

He looked affronted by the very concept. 

“Here,” Raven said, pulling the lid of Chocolate Fudge Brownie and digging out a big spoonful. She handed it to Erik saying, “Cooollld. Mmmmm.” 

He chewed clumsily with his mouth open. He clearly didn’t like the temperature. He looked torn between spitting it out and eyeing up more. 

“Let it melt in your mouth,” I said, at a complete loss for how to mime that.

He kept chewing it. It was unsettling to look at. 

Raven laughed. “This is better than the time you fed Kurt’s dog grapes and a peanut butter sandwich.” 

Hank looked at me disappointedly. 

“I was eight!” I said in my defense, while Erik tried to look curious while trying to ignore the sensation of his ice cream. “I thought he was bored of dog food.” 

Erik licked his teeth and touched his lips after he was done. He looked a bit stunned, but still intrigued. He worked his jaw experimentally, while he stared hungrily at the open containers on the table and gripped his spoon like a weapon. There was a bit of chocolate on his lip, so I wiped it off with my thumb, eliciting a big grin. 

“Good?” I asked. 

“Good,” he said. 

“Good ice cream.” 

He gaped at me in confused horror. “Eyes!” he yelled. 

“No, no, no.” I ran over to the freezer and took out a tray of ice. “Ice!”

He sighed in relief. And promptly tried to shove as much ice cream in his mouth as he could, half using his spoon and half squeezing it from the little carton. He was still chewing, it with his mouth open, unable to handle how cold it was. While Hank scribbled down some notes and Raven snuck the container of Cherry Garcia, Erik shouted in pain and indignation. He squeezed his forehead in his hands. 

Raven laughed. And pointed. “Brain freeze!” 

Hank raised an eyebrow, reaching for the Strawberry Cheesecake. “It’s probably good he doesn’t know either of those words or we’d be spending the next fifteen minutes miming to him how his brain wasn’t actually going to freeze solid.” 

“Charles,” Erik said pathetically, throwing his cup and spoon down with finality. “Chars. Erik no eat ice no.” 

He made grabby hands, which was the official request for me. 

“Oh, poor Erik,” I said, more in willingness to indulge him than in anything else. He immediately leaned in to rest his in the crook of my neck. I patted his head, while he pulled me in tighter, sniffing loudly in my ear. 

“I can’t believe you let him do that,” Raven said, shaking her head. 

I ignored her. Yes, I too thought Erik was transitioning from genuine brain freeze to overacting for my sympathy, extra cuddles, and, probably, ass for later. But I didn’t particularly care to deny him any of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for the really great first time suggestions, which I am still accepting, of course. 
> 
> Here's a tentative list of some firsts I plan on doing: a whole mess of food ones, Charles topping, movie/television, beverages--carbonated, alcohol, etc, supermarket shopping, domestic animals, Erik's first attempt at dirty talking, car ride, vacuum cleaner and/or loud modern appliances, and, some others that I can't remember. 
> 
> You guys... you guys. I am never going to finish this. (But seriously though, GREAT suggestions.) 
> 
> P.S.- I do in fact miss Cool Britannia, but like Hank my favorite that embarrasses me thoroughly is Chubby Hubby. But that's just B&J. The best ice cream I've ever had, bar none, was at this little scoop shop called Izzy's in Minneapolis, MN. It was called Mango Django--spicy and fruity--with a scoop of Cinnamon on top. I remember it still. 
> 
> Please tell me your fave ice cream in the comments! (If you couldn't tell, I like ice cream.)


End file.
